


Has anyone ever fucked you?

by stormthedarkcity



Series: The Pearl [3]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Begging, Dildos, Established Relationship, First Time Bottoming, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Smut, Trans Character, Trans Male Character, Trans Zevran
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-29
Updated: 2019-12-29
Packaged: 2021-02-26 06:15:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,410
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21978706
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stormthedarkcity/pseuds/stormthedarkcity
Summary: Zevran asks him over lunch one day. He always has the strangest of timings.“Has anyone ever fucked you?”Alistair coughs painfully as he almost chokes on his bite; from the corner of his tear-filled eyes, he sees Zevran patiently waiting for him to answer.
Relationships: Alistair/Zevran Arainai
Series: The Pearl [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1534775
Comments: 21
Kudos: 70





	Has anyone ever fucked you?

**Author's Note:**

> This ficlet is smut-focused, but it is part of a series! In case you haven't read the main Pearl story, here’s a few important facts you need to know:  
> \- Zevran works with Isabela in a sex shop called the Pearl  
> \- Him and Alistair have been dating for a while  
> \- Zevran is on medication which makes it hard for him to climax, so they have an arrangement and he sometimes calls it a day before having come.
> 
> I hope you like this fic!

Zevran asks him over lunch one day. He always has the strangest of timings.

“Has anyone ever fucked you?”

Alistair coughs painfully as he almost chokes on his bite; from the corner of his tear-filled eyes, he sees Zevran patiently waiting for him to answer.

Well. It could have been worse. Like that time he’d begun joking about whips in the supermarket. Granted, there wasn’t anyone around, but still! What kind of conversation is that to have in public!

Alistair wipes the corners of his mouth and drinks a sip of water to soothe his throat. “No,” he finally says.

Zevran hums thoughtfully, biting his lip. He lifts a finger in the air. “Have you ever fucked yourself?”

Alistair wets his lips and nods slowly, causing Zevran to smile. There’s that sinful light in his eyes as he squints.

“On your fingers?”

“Yes,” Alistair admits in a breath.

“Nothing else?”

“No.”

“Do you like it?”

Alistair nods again. His cheeks are on fire. Zevran leans forward, conspiracy in his posture as he asks in a low voice, “would you like _me_ to fuck you someday?”

_Maker._

Alistair had expected the conversation to go there, really, but there’s a difference between knowing it’s going to happen and actually hearing the words fall from that wicked mouth. He splutters and buries his face into his hands, before emerging just as fast.

“Yes,” he squeaks out. “Maker, yes.”

Zevran’s smile widens. “I am looking forward to talk more about this, then.”

He does that, sometimes. He brings ideas to the table, and leaves them there for Alistair to pick up whenever he feels ready. He doesn’t insist when Alistair doesn’t mention these things again; on occasion Alistair wishes he did, but he also likes how bold this process has forced him to become. Sometimes, these days, he’ll even bring up his own ideas. And even more rarely – but it happens! – he’ll do it without stuttering. 

So that’s how, a few weeks later, Alistair wraps his arms around Zevran, presses his face into his neck, and says, soft but clear, “I want you to fuck me.”

“Very well,” Zevran answers after a shiver and a smirk, “but you should get to pick the cock that I shall fuck you with. Come to the Pearl, closing time, soon as you can.”

* * *

It’s another few days before Alistair finds a free evening, but he rushes to the Pearl as soon as he does. He gingerly pushes the front door open, finding Isabela alone in the shop. She puts her coat on and walks to him.

“Hey sweet one,” she says, and taps his chest amicably.

“Isabela!” He clears his throat. “I thought you might be gone already.”

“I’m just about to leave, don’t worry, I’m leaving you boys do your little shopping in private.”

Alistair makes a strangled sound that he can’t quite pass off as laugh, as he rubs the back of his neck. “Oh. You know about that, huh.”

“Not the details, no.” She pouts. “Zev wouldn’t tell me.”

There’s a rustle at the back of the shop.

“And I have broken your heart, I know Bela, I know,” Zevran drawls, pushing aside the bead curtain leading to the back room. He’s wearing slim jeans and a wide-collared shirt that makes him look entirely dashing, and that puts less-than-appropriate images in Alistair’s mind as the fabric almost slips off his shoulder when he places a fist on a cocked hip. He smiles slowly at Alistair.

Isabela sighs dramatically. “With two such _lovely_ boys off the market, it’s only natural I get a little curious.”

Zevran tuts. “Get home safe,” he says pointedly, but he’s smiling as he shakes his head. Isabela rolls her eyes and winks at them, before grabbing her purse from the counter, pushing the door open, and disappearing outside.

While Alistair removes his coat and gingerly drapes it over the desk chair, Zevran turns over the sign on the door and locks it. There’s something very fatalistic in the clicking sound it makes; Alistair starts wringing his hands as Zevran walks back up to him and passes him by.

“Right.” Zevran makes a come hither gesture over his shoulders, urging Alistair to follow him to a corner of the shop. He stops in front of a wall filled with shelves, some so high even Alistair can’t quite see their content. And on those shelves are neat lines of man-made cocks, silicone and glass and — is that metal? —; some are realistic, some are coloured with bright patterns; a few of them are shaped in ways so alien they might well be trying to express a vision of… _Huh. Alien cocks._

“As I already own a harness of my own,” Zevran explains, “we are just looking for a dildo. The only requirement is that it has a flared base.” He picks one up and taps the base with his index, before putting it back down. He inclines his head. “Well, I suppose our biggest models might not fit in the harness I have in mind, but I doubt you will be attracted to this sort of sizes quite yet.”

“How… How do I know which ones fit? In— In your harness I mean,” he adds in a mumble.

Thankfully, Zevran doesn’t comment on the other type of ‘fitting’ that would have to happen; he only places a gentle hand on Alistair’s back and says, “I shall tell you. We are not in a hurry. Feel free to pick them up.”

“Okay,” Alistair murmurs. He bites his lip.

“You trust me, yes? I promise not to make fun of you.”

Alistair’s answer comes out fast as lightning, before he can even form the thought of it. “I know you won’t.”

He does. It’s a rare feeling in Alistair’s life, and so very welcome. It’s not exactly that people frequently mock him, but rather that it always _feels_ like people are talking about him behind his back. Not Zevran, though. Never Zevran.

He takes a deep breath, and steps closer to the shelves.

His gaze lands on a bright pink dildo, the one Zevran had pointed out to him on his first visit, and he can’t help but smile. Next to this one, there’s a smaller one, with a detailed head and a vein running along the side. It’s skin-coloured, but lighter than both their skins. Alistair picks it up hesitantly. It’s smooth and cold in his palm. He tries to imagine it strapped to someone’s body. Strapped to _Zevran’s_ body. He licks his lips, and puts it back down hurriedly.

His gaze runs down one shelf, then another, trying to catalogue everything, incapable of picking one to look at. He turns to Zevran.

“Is it…weird, for you, to wear something realistic? Or do you prefer it?”

Zevran cocks his head, considering. “It depends on my mood, I suppose. Sometimes it feels good to look down and see something that could be mine, but other days… well, it is quite fun to wear something a little more colourful.”

Alistair points at a particularly complex one, neon green and deep blue, with ridges running up the shaft and bumps around the head. “Something like that?” He bites down on his lip to stifle a laugh.

Zevran smiles back at him, amused and not uninterested.

“I actually happen to have a similar model at home.”

Alistair can’t help but giggle. Cocks are a little funny. Especially neon green ones. For a moment he’s afraid his enthusiasm will sound like mockery, but Zevran just seems to relax, blinking slowly at him and smiling wider.

“You know what, Zev, I’m not even surprised.”

Zevran humbly bows his head. “I am flattered to know you would associate such a cock with me.”

Alistair picks up another dildo, realistically-shaped, but coloured in a pretty light blue; then another, made out of clear glass, more solid and heavy than any other. He jokes about each of them, Zevran answers in kind, and the nervousness slowly leaves Alistair’s body until he’s happily floating through an amusing conversation.

They settle on a small, realistic dildo that matches Zevran’s skin tone. Zevran comes back from the backroom with a boxed one in hand, stands on his tiptoes to kiss Alistair’s lips, quick and dirty, and then he’s already walking toward the door.

“Well? Are you coming? We should make use of our new acquisition in the shortest delays, no?”

* * *

The shortest delays, as it turns out, means that very evening. Alistair hasn’t been able to stop thinking about this since they’ve started _really_ talking about it, and Zevran’s hand in his is warm on the bus ride back home, and they stop in the entrance hall to kiss goodbye a little too passionately.

“Come to my flat when you’re ready,” Zevran breathes against his lips, before letting go of him.

Alistair is knocking on his door no more than ten minutes later. Zevran opens with a smirk and a silken black robe wrapped around himself. He makes no game of it; he drags Alistair to his bedroom by the arm, makes him remove his clothes by a raised eyebrow and one firm “off”, and then he drops the robe as soon as he’s obeyed. Underneath, as expected, is nothing but the silicone cock, tightly fixed to his groin by straps that run around his hips.

Alistair exhales shakily. Zevran smirks up at him, before grabbing his chin and tugging him down to his lips. The kiss is hungry and wet from the moment their mouths touch. Alistair wraps his arms around him, and Zevran presses closer, his body warm and solid against Alistair’s, and then the silicone cock is pressing hard into Alistair’s thigh. He gasps against Zevran’s lips; Zevran only grins up knowingly at him. There’s a hand on Alistair’s arm, dragging downward, pulling his hand to the cock.

Alistair follows the directive. The cock is so very smooth under his touch as he drags two digits from base to tip. Zevran leans backward ever so slightly, and they both watch as Alistair experimentally wraps a hand around it, pumping down and then back up, resting his thumb on the carved head.

Alistair feels a little short-breathed. It’s as though there isn’t enough oxygen in the room. Zevran must see it on his face, because he holds his neck and asks, “Are you alright?”

“Yeah,” Alistair breathes. “This is just— This is… new.”

“How does it feel?”

Alistair drags his fist down the shaft, and back up again.

“It’s, uh. It’s pretty hot,” he confesses.

Zevran drags him back down to his mouth, and, as they kiss, Alistair can’t keep himself from playing with that cock, pumping it in his fist, holding it close to his thigh as Zevran moves against him, thumbing mindlessly at where the slit would be. He wants to line his own cock with Zevran’s, to jerk them off together, slow and steady, breaths mingling.

Alistair realises they’ve been moving toward the bed when the back of his knees hit the mattress, and Zevran pushes him down on it with a firm press of his palm in the centre of his chest. Alistair lands unceremoniously and crawls back on his elbows to let Zevran follow on his knees. The cock is wobbling in front of him with each step he takes. It’s hypnotic. Alistair crawls back, Zevran advances, prey and hunter, until Alistair’s elbow hits the head of the bed. He sits against the headboard and stops. Zevran crawls over him and settles on his lap, cock brushing Alistair’s and digging a little into his stomach.

Alistair swallows. Zevran kisses him. There’s teeth, more than usual, and it’s exactly what he needs right now. He bucks up, and his cock slides along Zevran’s. It’s not enough to quite be pleasurable, but it still makes Alistair’s heartbeat quicken a little more.

When Zevran pulls back, his lips are glistening and stretched into a wicked smile. He combs Alistair’s hair back.

“Would you like me to use my fingers, first, _Cariño_?”

Alistair nods a little shakily, and then Zevran has left his lap before he can realise what’s happening. He moves back to the middle of the bed so he’ll have the space to lay down. Zevran returns with a bottle of lube.

He coats a few of his fingers in it and then sinks close to Alistair, between his spread legs, his mouth open over Alistair’s — but not touching it — as his palm blindly traces his ribs, his stomach, the dip of his hip. From there, he lowers his cold, slick fingers to Alistair’s skin. They follow the seam of his sack down toward his hole; Alistair whines when they press against that sensitive spot below his balls, and then he stops breathing altogether when they reach his rim. Zevran, mouth still open, smiles down at him. His gaze is focused from behind his eyelashes as he circles Alistair’s hole, pressing gently into the receptive flesh.

Alistair bites down on his lip. Zevran’s touches stops teasing, and a single finger slowly sinks into him until Zevran’s palm is resting flat against his skin. He waits. Alistair pants.

“Still alright?” Zevran asks in a low voice.

Alistair clings to him. “Yes.”

Zevran’s finger slides out a little, and then back in, and Alistair shivers. He can’t quite tell whether it’s from the feeling of the finger in him, or the intimacy of the act itself. Out, in. Out, in. Their breaths mix. Alistair digs his nails into his own palm.

“Will you add another one?” he whispers urgently.

Zevran blinks in agreement. He combs his hair back gently, just as he pushes a second finger next to the first and begins pumping again. His eyes are focused, tracing Alistair’s features, following the hitches in his breaths and the struggle of his swallows.

Alistair’s cock is beginning to throb almost painfully at the lack of touch. He throws his head back and shuts his eyes tightly as the fingers in him twist oh-so-sweetly; he doesn’t notice Zevran has followed his movement until there’s a murmur in his ear.

“Do you want my cock?”

Alistair groans, his fists curling and uncurling on its own.

“Yes.”

Zevran tuts softly. “You will have to do better, if you are to convince me that you truly want it.”

Alistair gives a strangled sort of laugh. He would protest, if it weren’t for the fact that he really likes how Zevran looks at him when he’s begging. He turns half-lidded eyes onto Zevran, twisting his neck to expose it.

“Please.” He pants —a little for show, and a little because Zevran’s fingers haven’t stopped their maddening back-and-forth. “ _Please_ , Zevran. I want it.”

Zevran lowers himself to him and licks along the sensitive edge of his jaw, before dragging his lips to Alistair’s throat. “You want _it_?” he echoes against his pulse.

“Yes.”

Zevran pulls back just far enough to look at him. “I am afraid you will have to be more precise,” he purrs.

Alistair’s chest tightens as he feels heat flooding his face. His mouth works against empty air for a moment, and then he manages to get the words out in a hurried whisper:

“I want your cock.”

“Oh.” Zevran’s voice is shaking, the air of the game slipping from it. He buries his free hand into Alistair’s hair, tugging on it a little distractedly. “You look so very pretty when you are like that… Would you say it again? For me?”

It’s easier this time. Especially when Zevran is looking at him like this, with this patient yet unmistakable want, his amber eyes smooth as honey.

“I want your cock. Zevran, _please_ , I want your cock.”

Zevran gives that slightly delirious laughter of his, the one he sometimes has when Alistair does something he wasn’t quite letting himself hope for.

His fingers withdraw entirely. Alistair gasps.

Zevran’s touch is back just a few instants later, a single hand on his hip.

“Give me a pillow.” He indicates the pile of them near Alistair’s head, and then nudges his ass upward to slip one under him when he obeys.

“Are you ready?”

The head of his slick cock presses against Alistair’s entrance, patient and unyielding, and Alistair thinks he might just die from this sensation alone. He tries to swallow, but his mouth is too dry for that; he settles on nodding. Zevran’s smile is sharp and eager as he braces himself against the bed and begins pushing _in_ , inch by inch, watching Alistair pant and tremble under him with each little advance, until the whole length of his shaft is buried in Alistair.

And this is so much more intimate that Alistair could possibly have imagined that he feels tears fill his eyes. Above him, Zevran stops moving.

“Am I hurting you?”

Alistair laughs, but it’s a short-breathed sound. “No! No, you’re not, this is… It feels _so good_ , Zev.”

“You are crying.”

Alistair wipes at the corner of his eye, laughing and sniffling. “I feel like an idiot,” he says, but he doesn’t fully believe that — can’t, not when Zevran is looking at him like that.

“You are far from one.” Zevran leans forward, until his forehead is resting as high on his torso as it can. “Every time you open up like this and let me see your tears,” he murmurs, “is a blessing to which nothing compares, Alistair.”

Alistair has a hiccup that’s equally sob and laugh, and he wraps both arms around Zevran.

“Please don’t stop moving.”

Zevran’s breath is warm and shaky against his chest. “Say that again.”

“ _Please don’t stop moving_ , I need you, I need this.” Alistair’s breath turns into a gasp as Zevran rocks forward again, slides in all the way, presses his hips close to him.

“Like that?”

“Yes. Please. Please.”

Zevran’s thrusts are slow and regular, rocking against Alistair, and then in rhythm with his own movements. Alistair’s breath catches in his throat the first time Zevran brushes against a specific spot inside of him. Vague memories of some old research and a few erotic stories flood Alistair’s mind.

“Is that…?”

Zevran does the same movement again, causing Alistair’s breath to cut into a gasp.

“I should think so, _Cariño_.” Zevran laughs, and he does it again, and again, and again. And then he brings his lube-slicked hand to his cock, and Alistair gives up entirely on trying to keep track of the situation.

“More,” he whines.

“More?”

“More. Your— Your cock— Your hand— Please, I need…” Alistair thinks he’s not making much sense, but Zevran doesn’t seem to mind, and he gives him exactly what he wants and can’t seem to ask for. Zevran spurs him on in Antivan; Alistair barely understands a few words from his constant, adoring litany, but he gets enough that it makes his cheeks and gut flood with heat.

“ _Vamos_ , Alistair, _por_ _favor_ _,_ _quiero_ _que te_ _corres_ …”

Alistair whines in encouragement and Zevran’s hand on his cock quickens, his thumb pressing delicately into that spot under the head with each stroke, with each thrust of his hips.

Alistair comes through those clever fingers, stifling a long groan by biting his lip, so hard he vaguely wonders whether it’ll leave a bruise. Zevran’s teeth are scratching his throat, not quite biting, but still there, solid and threatening, and Alistair whines at the sensation.

“How are you feeling?” Zevran asks against his skin.

Alistair gurgles an answer, and Zevran laughs fondly, his whole body shaking in Alistair's embrace.

“I am glad to hear it.”

Pulling out, as it turns out, is a far stranger sensation than Alistair had expected, and he grimaces as Zevran slowly withdraws from his body.

“I know,” Zevran says, “I know.” He rolls around to remove the strap-on from his body, before cuddling close to Alistair, who breathes in his hair.

“Do you want me to—?”

Zevran looks at him for a few instants, considering, before letting his head fall back against his chest. “No, I reckon making you come like this has been enough for now.”

Alistair curls in on himself to kiss the top of his boyfriend’s head, and then lets himself fall back down heavily when it becomes obvious every muscle in his upper body is sore.

“We should take a shower,” he says, eyes closing despite himself.

“Hmm,” Zevran answers into his skin. “Later.”

“Yeah. Later.” Alistair yawns.

And he falls asleep.

**Author's Note:**

> This story is part of the [LLF Comment Project](https://longlivefeedback.tumblr.com/llfcommentproject), which was created to improve communication between readers and authors. I invite and appreciate feedback, including:
> 
>   * Short comments
>   * Long comments
>   * Questions
>   * Constructive criticism
>   * “<3” as extra kudos
>   * Reader-reader interaction
> 

> 
> I reply to comments! If however you don’t want a reply, for any reason, feel free to add "/whisper" or "#whisper" to your comment and I'll appreciate it but not respond!  
> 


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